Bridging Patient Experience and The Ivory Tower

I’m enrolled in a course this semester called “Disability and Culture.” In this class we are looking at representations of disability in film, art, writing, etc. A major take-away from our first lecture was that representations of disability are inherently value-laden. This means that every single time a character or piece of art presents with a disability, there is a value-based meaning attached to it.

Forrest Gump. Hodor. Mad-Eye Moody.

All three characters are defined, motivated, and behave according to the their respective impairments (or rather, to the able-bodied expectations of their impairments). Try and think of a single time you’ve seen a disability presented without some value-based meaning attached to it. You can’t! It’s impossible! Even acute injuries are contextualized, joked about, justified.

Considering this argument, I have been thinking about how diabetes is presented. What first came to mind was of course: fat, lazy, gluttonous, old. Upon a second, and perhaps deeper, reflection I thought: sad, careless, lacking, dependent, unaware, bad.

I’ll be the first to admit I watch a LOT of television. In my observations, the most common representations of diabetes are used as a comedic device or as a plot-pivoting clue. The former is no surprise, right? It might look like this: Character A sits on a couch eating a plate of donuts. Character B remarks “You’re gonna get diabetes.” [Insert laughter here?]. This first common representation of diabetes is one we [in the diabetes online community] have spent post after post, tweet after tweet, trying to dismantle. We do not take this [mis]representation lightly, as it contributes to the stereotypes and stigma attached to living with diabetes.

But the second representation, the plot pivoting-clue, is one we talk about in the diabetes community far less frequently. It might look like this: Crime detective reads blood test results from crime scene, says “The blood sugar level is 350, the murderer must be the wife because she is the only one with diabetes.” My opinion on this representation is not fully formed. I’m mostly filled with questions about how we ought to interpret this as a community. Is the diabetes responsible for the crime? Are people with diabetes easier to catch? Are we being objectified in this process? Please let me know your thoughts in the comments.

In a first attempt to tease out the meaning behind diabetes represented for the purpose of developing or pivoting a plot, I’d argue that diabetes is inconsequential or expendable in this context and can be, rather, taken just as measurable human deviance. In other words, the representation is not of diabetes itself, but simply as a deviant Other. I use deviant in this context to mean “away from the average.” If we take this assumption to be true, then we can also ascertain that diabetes is Other-ing. Diabetes is that which makes us different.

Diabetes is the contrast, the evidence, the scapegoat, the giveaway.

Diabetes is that odd deviation see-able through the microscope.

Diabetes is, then, not only what makes us different, but also what makes us see-able. It makes our invisible variation of difference visible.

Many of us (people living with diabetes) share a story: we have experienced periods of isolation due to diabetes-specific challenges. Some of us went years before ever meeting another person living with diabetes. And perhaps most pertinent to Diabetes Online Community (#DOC) members, we know that magical feeling of complete relief when we are finally able to say it like it is to those who understand.

When I consider my own experience as a DOC community member as evidence of the power of peer-support, my assumption is that the DOC works for two main reasons:

because it removes the barrier of isolation and

because it is stacked with insider-generated knowledge on how to live better with diabetes

There are MANY additional reasons that explain why the DOC helps people with diabetes. You probably have a laundry list of reasons and I encourage you to add them in comment form here. Another part of the story we share as people with diabetes are the reasons why and how our sources of support serve us. A question I’m trying to answer through my own research, is “what is it about participating in the DOC that most benefits people with diabetes?” I want to find that one magical bean that keeps all of this growing and thriving.

This article proposes that novelty, explained as a drive to ‘seek out new experiences’, could be an intrinsic and universal human need. The findings suggest that seeking new experiences is a mechanism of self-motivation necessary for optimal self-realization.

“Furthermore, if people do not seek novel activities within the tasks they do in the workplace or in leisure time, they will likely experience boredom and maladaptive outcomes like low self-worth, negative affect, low life satisfaction and psychological well-being.” (González-Cutre et. al, 2016).

If their assumption is correct, then its application toward the diabetes self-management corpus is a natural fit! Doing the same diabetes-tasks over and over leads to burnout. Our lived-experience shows us this. If my insurance wont cover alternative therapies like insulin pumps, continuous glucose monitors (CGMs), oral medications, etc, and or my doctor isn’t comfortable prescribing them, then how can I integrate a variety of novel tasks into my self-management toolkit that could potentially reduce the frequency of burnout?!

When my self-management becomes monotonous and boring, I do experience maladaptive outcomes like those mentioned in the excerpt above. My perception of self-worth decreases. That is to say that in burnout I literally feel like I matter less, am worth less, deserve less. Experiencing this sensation is incredibly maladaptive and generally leads to a slew of other problems. My health suffers, but so do my relationships, scholastic capacity, dependable-ness, and inner-drive.

Burnout, therefore, is a HUGE reason I need the peer-support I seek. I need to not only talk about the challenge, but also to hear novel ways in which others like me have transcended the process.

With that said, my experience is only one perspective and is not representative of the diabetes community as a whole. My question to you then, DOCers, HCPs, researchers, is could it be the novelty?

Could it be that when a person with diabetes encounters the world of the diabetes online community, that the novelty itself is a mechanism of its success?

If we, yes, agree that novelty is one aspect of why the DOC works, then what else can we know? Is novelty directly related to burnout cessation, to a decrease in diabetes-related distress? How can we use this as a community to inform the resources we offer?

Have you ever been witness to something unjust – someone being teased or treated unfairly? Chances are you have. Chances are also high that upon witnessing such an event, you have felt a specific kind of deep-seeded urge to somehow restore that balance and justice. However, if you are anything like me, that urge is often ignored. I push it away in fear of possibly making the situation worse or because I feel virtually powerless to help. What is more, this urge bubbles up for bigger events, too. For example, my injustice antenna alarms wildly when I hear about a person with a diabetes being hospitalized because they couldn’t afford insulin. I become simultaneously angry and helpless toward a system that unfairly discriminates against those living with chronic illness by making them pay for their life-sustaining medicines. I sometimes feel powerless to make any change to that system because I rely on it for my own wellness, and because I am just one single person. Being at MasterLab this year was eye opening in that it truly challenged the helpless part of my response to the injustice antenna going off.

One of the best talks of the day, and the only one that got a standing ovation, was given by Roniece Weaver, Executive Director of Hebni Nutrition Consultants, registered dietitian and author. She spoke about collaboration and sustainability when attempting to make change with underserved communities. Weaver began her talk with an array of statistics and findings from her own studies on nutritional educational program interventions. Her strategy was to provide nutritional education to communities who lacked access to such information. At first I was rolling my eyes.

I thought to myself, “Here we go another researcher blaming diabetes on individuals for poor food choices and ‘lifestyle factors’; Another researcher who expects that the prevalence of diabetes is a problem of the person and not the society and environment in which that person lives.”

However, about midway through her talk, Weaver’s tune changed. She shifted her position to include the social components contributing to health disparities between privileged and underserved populations. Weaver and her team went beyond education. They also brought produce to the mom&pop shops in food deserts that typically only served the usual gas station food options. Weaver said, “we needed to increase access to whole foods,” but doing so is “not about putting a big box store into a neighborhood, that wouldn’t be affordable.” In a place where food insecurity is high (meaning low-income, using food stamps etc.) opening an expensive grocery fails to meet people where they are at. Diabetes Advocate, Cara Richards tweeted the following:

Weaver’s whole message shifted dramatically in my eyes. Her research wasn’t blame-based, it was solution-based. What she shared next had advocates in the room tearing up. Weaver then told all of us about her own methods of advocacy and what practicing those methods did for one community.

The concept of FreshStop was inspired by a subscription box service called Blue Apron that delivers fresh produce with recipe cards for making quick healthy meals at home. Though innovative and convenient for those wanting to improve mealtime at home, Blue Apron is not affordable for the average joe. Weaver recalled her thought process, “How do you get something like Blue Apron into low-income communities?” How do we open up health-forward innovations to those who are routinely denied access? Isn’t that the question we all ought to be asking?

How do we increase the reach of the innovations and programs we advocate for to include those who perhaps need it most?

As a person with diabetes, I want tech advancement to happen because I want living with diabetes to be less of a burden on me. As an advocate, I want those innovations to extend beyond people like me who are privileged enough to have insurance, access to local knowledgable doctors, friends in the diabetes community, access to higher education, and time to self-manage. As an advocate, I know that for our system to be just and fair, all who are interested ought to have access to the medicine and medical equipment.

Weaver is a bold advocate and researcher who is a living example of how to extend innovation beyond the bounds of privilege. Her work reminded me that I am not powerless within the system that perpetuates injustice and health-disparities.

At MasterLab, through Weaver’s talk among many others’, I learned that giving in to the feeling of powerless is but another way to say no. And, I don’t want to say no. I want to act on that urge I feel to restore justice when witnessing unfairness. I want to give up passivity and try harder.
And I know that the only way I can create change is if I try.
The only way to go beyond the bounds of privilege is to reject the feeling of powerlessness and say YES

Yes, I can stand up to injustice.

Yes, I can be creative and find solutions that go beyond the bounds of privilege.

Yes, I can be an agent of change.

Yes.

Last week I attended #MasterLab, an advocacy event put on by Diabetes Hands Foundation through their Diabetes Advocates program. Overall the day was a spectacular success. Throughout this week, I will release reflections on specific talks. For now, a general overview of the event with gratitude toward the organization that made it all happen.

Brief Recap:

Not only did this advocate-centered event provide vital advocacy information about clinical trials, workplace protection laws, and legislation practices, but also gave time to discuss critical aspects of DOING the work, like prioritizing self-care, and being bold in the ask process. On top of covering a wide range of topics, MasterLab attendees were provided Advocacy Plan workbooks to begin PHYSICALLY drafting a personal advocacy plan. AMAZING, right?! MasterLab wasn’t just about hearing the information, nor was it just about bringing everyone together to foster community-support and groundswell around individuals’ advocacy efforts. MasterLab was about providing a practical formula for generating plans of action. It was a truly masterful event (please excuse that dad-joke, I couldn’t help myself). I will be sharing the advocacy plan I wrote and shared while in attendance at MasterLab in the next few days.

Sincere Thanks:

I want to take a moment to thank everyone who made MasterLab happen. Diabetes Hands Foundation, you continue to add so much value to the community. I thank you for making us, the advocates, your advocacy project. Our community is more equipped and more organized in our advocacy efforts because of the events and resources you provide. Thank you.

Also, there were many sponsors who funded MasterLab itself, and also forked over a chunk of change for many of the advocates in the room to be there. Bringing us all together is vital to our success, and I thank every single sponsor that contributed to our physical togetherness.

Last but not least, I want to thank all of the friends who offered hugs and support at MasterLab. My life is better because you are in it. The tribe we have all made and are part of keeps me going in my own self-management, research, career, sanity, the list goes on and on. Thank you for being you and for continuing to attend these in-person growth-inspiring events.

Diabetes advocates are my favorite people and I get to see many of them in just a few days. Suffice it to say I’m a little more than giddy. I’m practically bouncing out my chair right now as conversations in the Facebook group turn to packing tips and roommate assignments.

My current mood

So what is bringing all of us together?

MasterLab!!

MasterLab is a diabetes advocacy event hosted by the Diabetes Hands Foundation through their Diabetes Advocates platform and program. To make things better for attendees (e.g. patients who have medical bills for days) they offer a number of scholarships that include travel and hotel stay. I received such a scholarship, making my own attendance possible.

Tearfully grateful

Why is MasterLab so wonderful? Well, they bring in speakers who deal in advocacy as it related to diabetes and as it related to disability in general. Speakers like Mark Heyman (who I am personally indebted to for editing the application that got me accepted to graduate school) are sure to both inform and inspire. At what other event can you find a lineup of speakers who so broadly address matters of advocacy geared toward the advocates themselves?

The following are taken directly from the Diabetes Advocates MasterLab event page. Two of the offered sessions are:

“Diabetes and Mental Health: Advocating for Others While Taking Care of Yourself” Dr. Mark Heyman, Center for Diabetes and Mental Health. Mark Heyman is a diabetes psychologist, person with type 1 diabetes, and Founder and Director of the Center for Diabetes and Mental Health. We will learn how can advocates communicate the psycho-social and emotional challenges of diabetes in their advocacy work and take care of themselves in the process.

AND

“Building Collaboration and Sustainability in Programs for Nutrition and Access, in Underserved Neighborhoods”. We will learn from Roniece Weaver, Executive Director of Hebni Nutrition Consultants, Registered Dietician and author, about how she has brought health messages to underserved populations in Orlando, in a different delivery mode. This is a great example of the opportunity that might exist in your community, to work offline, make a difference and support local, smaller organizations.

Aren’t those amazing!?

Is your mind completely blown like mine was?!

If these descriptions appeal to you, but you are not attending MasterLab, fear not!

I, along with many other advocates, will be there live-tweeting and blogging about everything we learn.

If you are interested in participating in the live-tweeting, follow me here @HeatherGabel, and make sure to check in with #MasterLab.

The following post was inspired by the twitter chat #dsma on June 1st. Diabetes Social Media Advocacy is a great organization in the diabetes online community that connects people with diabetes to the support they need via social media in many ways. The twitter chat using #dsma is one such method. With that said, this post is not diabetes-specific. It is rather, disability wide: chronic, physical, mental, acute, endocrine, and everywhere in-between.

In 2013, scholars Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang published an article called “R-Words: Refusing Research.” I linked to the article in PDF form below and encourage you to dig in. It is a very wordy and theory heavy article; consider this your warning.

In this article, Tuck and Yang break down theoretical reasons why study participants (often referred to as ‘subjects’) may refuse participation and how the researcher’s role and goals play into that dynamic. As I read it, I engaged in a process of reflection. How am I doing as a researcher? Am I accomplishing the aims I set for myself at the outset of my academic career? Will the fallout be ethical?

The Tuck and Yang article is poignant in many ways, but two things in particular stick out to me as a member of a researched patient community.

A researcher sometimes acts as ventriloquist by taking the words and experiences of study ‘subjects’ and manipulating them into ‘findings’ that afford credit only to the researcher.

Emphasizing pain-narrative alone in a study is an exploitative act that may retroactively harm the population under study.

The first message listed above hit me pretty hard. I am a researcher and my goal is to facilitate the excavation and dissemination of discovery and truth. However, to do this, I feel compelled to appeal to the requirements of scientific rigor. I wonder, what could be the alternative? Could methodology make a difference? I decided on the research approach called Participatory Action Research (PAR) because I wanted to avoid ventriloquism. The community members who volunteer are not puppets I use to explain a theory previously hypothesized. Rather, they (you/we), are the story, the evidence, the design, the conclusion. Without them/you/us, there is no study at all.

By doing research, I want to change the process of research itself. A person shouldn’t need a program, a MA, a PhD, to carry out a study. One ought only need curiosity and a well-inked pen.

Secondly, while my internal drive feels genuine, I cannot deny that doing this work may inflate my position in the academy (the ivory tower). Thus, researching the diabetes community and eventually other health communities cannot be considered selfless by any means. I have a professional stake in doing this, and my success does depend on you: people with bodies that function a-typically. Though, as I consider my position as a researcher, I cannot forget my own place within the we under examination here. I am a person with diabetes even when I am not researching. I, too, have a body that functions a-typically. My primary identity and loyalty lies with the community. I research to ensure our knowledge and discourse is recognized as legitimate. We already know the answers to why peer-support improves our management, to how connection brings us from a place of isolation to community, to why the #DOC came to be. We already know.

The Tuck and Yang article posits that researchers often function within “settler colonial structures.” This means that researchers use the social structure of research and the process of building truth (through studies) in a way that maintains power dynamics as they are. By focusing on the pain-narratives (diabetes distress scale as example) of patients with various disabilities alone, researchers keep patients right where they are: at the bottom of the power-ladder crying for help.

I’ve noticed a focus on pain in our own stories via blogs and twitter and I one-hundred percent understand why. We live everyday in the kind of pain that no one can see, pain that we are good at hiding, pain with no physiological origin. Raising awareness about how hard it is to live with chronic illness, diabetes, chronic pain, so on and so forth, feels like justice. It feels like recognition for the hard work we put in to do what everyone else can do without effort. It wouldn’t be right to do all of this without getting a little credit, would it?

Where are we left, however, when the questions asked by researchers stop at hardships?When only our distress is measured, everything we create to balance that distress goes unacknowledged.

When the resources we create go unacknowledged, they fail to reach our comrades who need that access for survival.

I am left asking where our community efforts fit in? Where are we and what is the story we are telling as a patient community, as a group of individuals living with impairments? What can we do to move the emphasis of study from pain, suffering, and what doesn’t work to success, flourishing, and what does work? Further, if we found a way to do that, is it even what we would want?

Well, it is day four of Diabetes Blog Week and the topic today is about our experiences with
healthcare. In this post, I shift the focus a bit to an ideological issue I see as pervasive in the medical community. It has to do with imagined hardship.

Last year, while working as a bartender, a woman pointed to the tattoo on my arm that reads “DIABETIC” and asked, “are you diabetic?” I responded, “yes, I have diabetes.” It was a slow day at the bar, so I entertained her string of run-of-the-mill diabetes questions.

No, diabetes is not as dichotomous as you would think. No, cinnamon does not reverse it, nor is there a cure. Yes, I do take multiple daily injections and prick my finger many times a day. And finally, yes, it could be worse.

To me, her words translated to, “Your life must be awful.” I went home and reconsidered the disease-acceptance I had built up since the last conversation like this, about a month before. Even a little suggestion that the way I live is far from ideal is a reminder that others would not opt for my life circumstances. “No one would want this” is the thought I am left coping with.

There is a researcher named Peter Ubel who, along with colleagues, compared the way non-sick and able-bodied people expect to feel at the onset of a diagnosis, and the way sick and disabled people actually feel post-diagnosis. Ubel’s findings suggest that non-sick and able-bodied people are poor assessors of quality of life given medical complications mainly because they fail to incorporate adaptability into imagined scenarios.

Individuals like the woman I interacted with, can be narrowly focused on the potential pain of shots or the inconvenience of monitoring blood sugar. These individuals might play out one or two scenarios in which the mentioned diagnosis would limit a freedom they value. As Ubel mentions, the notion of adaptability is absent in the snap judgement used to decide the desirability of a particular lifestyle.

When we form an idea of what life would be like given X circumstances, we miss something. Malcolm Gladwell, in Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking says, “We have, as human beings, a storytelling problem. We’re a bit too quick to come up with explanations for things we don’t really have an explanation for.”

In the context of today’s topic, I draw attention to the fact that among the individuals who overestimate the decline in quality of life given a new diagnosis, who underestimate adaptability, who form incomplete explanations based on limited information, are doctors.

Healthcare providers are not immune to faulty expectations. The trouble we face as a result of faulty expectations are the subsequent treatment options provided.

In my own healthcare experience, I’ve been denied CGM coverage because my management wasn’t ‘good enough.’ I have also been denied disability status because my doctor didn’t see diabetes as a disabling disease (put another way, my illness wasn’t ‘bad enough’).

My biggest frustration with our healthcare system is that the person with the least decision-making power is me, the patient.

I believe this stems, in part, from a system that elevates the physician’s, the payer’s, the industry’s perspective over mine. It stems from a system that values my life less because of diabetes.

Click for the The Healthcare Experience – Thursday 5/19 Link List.
Most people who live with a chronic illness end up with a lot of experience when it comes to dealing with healthcare. How would you improve or change your healthcare experience? What would you like to see happening during medical visits with your healthcare team? How about when dealing with your health insurance companies? What’s your Healthcare Wish List or Biggest Frustration? Today is the day to share it all!

The topic for today asks bloggers to discuss their diabetes language preferences. What does each blogger prefer? “Person with diabetes”, or “diabetic”? I’m thankful to the community member who proposed this topic, because my views on it have somewhat shifted since I wrote about it last. My perspective changed because I’ve learned some disability history!

Below is a visual conception (or formulation) of each way to refer to living with diabetes. I drew it just over a year ago. It not only reflected how I felt about modifiers, but also was a source of pride for me. I had found a way to eloquently express how I experienced subtle language variations.

However, after delving into disability studies and the critical theory and history that make it up, I have begun to reconsider my formulation.

Did you know that the language we tend to use in the United States is called “person-first language?” It’s a thing! We have a thing! Our community PRACTICES a theoretical (albeit historical) formulation that one can read about in academic texts!

How stinking’ cool is that?

Person-first language is formulated to address the dehumanization that can occur when a person is addressed as a disablement (in this case as diabetes) rather than as a person. Hence, in order to respect an individual’s personhood, “person with diabetes” is suggested. Person-first language isn’t used everywhere, though. This is the part that really hooked my interest as a patient who tends heavily toward person-first language.

An alternative is called identity-first language and it formed, in part, as a rejection of person-first language.

A person who tends toward identity-first language might say:

“I’d prefer you call me diabetic because I recognize that being diabetic does not decrease my personhood. I prefer this because I reject the idea that diabetic is a derogatory word.”

In this formulation, identity-first language actually fights stigma by rejecting the negative association all together! It functions to TAKE BACK the word completely! What’s more, it is used as often in the UK as person-first is here!

WOW! Right? Is this stuff mind-bending or what? Could the words we use be dictated by what region we are diagnosed?

After being exposed to identity-first language, what I can certainly say is that my feeling of righteousness when using person-first language is shaky at best.

Take this discussion as food for thought because there is no right or wrong, there is only what works for you. What we can do is make a choice and stand by that decision as informed patients.

What sits right with you?

Today’s topic: Click for the Language and Diabetes – Wednesday 5/18 Link List.
There is an old saying that states “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”. I’m willing to bet we’ve all disagreed with this at some point, and especially when it comes to diabetes. Many advocate for the importance of using non-stigmatizing, inclusive and non-judgmental language when speaking about or to people with diabetes. For some, they don’t care, others care passionately. Where do you stand when it comes to “person with diabetes” versus “diabetic”, or “checking” blood sugar versus “testing”, or any of the tons of other examples? Let’s explore the power of words, but please remember to keep things respectful.

Welcome to Day 2 of Diabetes Blog Week. The topic revolves around the mental and emotional aspects of living with diabetes and what each of us bloggers does to cope with the stresses diabetes brings. The coping mechanism that suits me best as I move through the trials of diabetes is curiosity. Becoming a researcher in diabetes isn’t a selfless one. When I am working on untangling the intricacies and complexities of diabetes, I am happier. I am steeped in project and connection when I am interviewing, coding, reading, and learning.

For example, learning that there ARE researchers who are proposing the application of complexity theory to diabetes clinical practice thrills me! What thrills me more is knowing that I bring some of our perspective to this growing body of research.

All of this researching helps me cope personally, but it also boosts my pride in our community. As we dig deep and write about our experiences, researchers are fumbling to explain it in academic terms. It makes me want to send each and every one of you GIANT virtual hugs all the time for being so wonderfully in tune with your mind, spirit, and body.

If I were to suggest anything to a PWD experiencing burnout, it would be this…

“Never let a good crisis go to waste.”

As hard as it is to write during burnout, let us try. Because our stories ARE data, our words are future findings. Knowing that the power of our hardships can be collected and explored is extraordinary. I don’t know about you, but that’s enough to keep me going.

If you want to look up the complexity theory in diabetes practice, here is a good place to start: Cooper, H. C., & Geyer, R. (2009). What can complexity do for diabetes management? Linking theory to practice. Journal of evaluation in clinical practice, 15(4), 761-765.

Today’s Topic: Click for the The Other Half of Diabetes – Tuesday 5/17 Link List.
We think a lot about the physical component of diabetes, but the mental component is just as significant. How does diabetes affect you or your loved one mentally or emotionally? How have you learned to deal with the mental aspect of the condition? Any tips, positive phrases, mantras, or ideas to share on getting out of a diabetes funk? (If you are a caregiver to a person with diabetes, write about yourself or your loved one or both!)

I am beyond thrilled to have started The Chronic Scholar blog in time for the Seventh Annual Diabetes Blog week! Karen over at Bitter-Sweet Diabetes is such a gem in our community and I am so thankful for her work here.

Today’s topic was my suggestion. I wrote this suggestion under the impression that our sense of community may be strengthened by it. Our collective sentiments are representative of our community, and possibly people with diabetes in general. How often do we look at and examine our message though? How often do we analyze the effectiveness, possible results, and second-order consequences of the sentiments we articulate through our stories? I personally wanted to opportunity and space to explore my main diabetes messages, so I am extra thankful to Karen for picking this topic.

I haven’t been the first PWD to admit today that my message has changed over the course of writing a blog. I started it when I was working in the Bay Area at The Diabetes Hands Foundation and am now with DiabetesSisters and a second-year PhD student in Disability Studies in Chicago. I’m thankful for blogging, in retrospect, because it shows my changes over time. I get to read how I was feeling four years ago. What a wonderful opportunity.

With that said, what are the messages I put out into the world via my blog, and what do I hope they accomplish? Well, below are my top two messages. Both stem from personal experience, the latter from my studies in critical theory, and they speak to one another.

Message 1: Diabetes looks like everyone you have ever met, no matter the type, no matter the circumstance.

Can type 1 look like a child? Yes. Can it also look like a grandparent? Yes. Can type 2 look like a child? Yes. Can it also look like a grandparent? Yes. And everywhere in between. Diabetes does not discriminate, nor does it choose its vessels based on ‘lifestyle.’ The most important message I want to spread by telling personal stories is that diabetes is more complex than the one-dimensional caricature blasted through popular media.

Message 2: When persons with type 1 set themselves apart from type 2 by saying things like “Type 1 means I did nothing to cause this,” we are inevitably strengthening the type 2 stereotype we are attempting to distance ourselves from to begin with.

This is a tricky message to share and to explain. It is complicated and has a couple of moving parts. Moreover, this second message is a reflection of how my messages have changed over time. When I began blogging, I wanted the world to know about type 1. I wanted my friends and family to know that what I endured everyday was more difficult than Wilfred Brimley made it sound. I wanted Ellen to tell the internet and Hollywood to stop confusing my disease with someone else’s.

It was with great humility that I began to witness the second-order consequences of my message and mission to educate. By demanding there is a difference, I reinforce that difference; I authorize it. In this scenario, I, as the educated patient give permission to those being educated to continue believing that type 2 looks they way they think it does, fat and old, bad and sad.

Simply separating myself and my diabetes from THAT type 2 diabetes, I do nothing to fight stigma, but in fact reinforce it.

The message which I stand by now has been my hardest diabetes lesson thus far. As I continue to move through life with this disease, with this plastic pancreas hooked at the side of my jeans, I will be watchful of the impact of my messages. I will allow for humility to guide me, espicially when my righteousness is called into question by doing so.

Today’s topic: Click for the Message Monday – Monday 5/16Link List.
Lets kick off the week by talking about why we are here, in the diabetes blog space. What is the most important diabetes awareness message to you? Why is that message important for you, and what are you trying to accomplish by sharing it on your blog? (Thank you, Heather Gabel, for this topic suggestion.)